


On These Nights

by leeyanatasya



Series: After 2.30 a.m. [4]
Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Sad, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 05:53:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18337505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leeyanatasya/pseuds/leeyanatasya
Summary: These are the nights that hurt most. On these nights, Kim Wonpil reminds you that you are never alone.





	On These Nights

These are the nights that hurt most. 

On these nights, you are always a little too cold. Even in the heat of the summer, you wrap yourself in the warmth of your sweater as you walk the steps to your apartment, keeping your head down to evade the greetings of your neighbours. They are friendly, and more often than not, so are you – but not tonight. 

On these nights, the world outside always appears a little darker than it should be. With the absence of stars, the night appears to be engulfed in an abyss that would leave us blind on our path outside if it weren’t for the ever present streetlights to brighten the way. When you walk past a window, you stop in your tracks and glance out towards the view. You realise the night keeps its secrets hidden in the darkness it cultivates; it keeps everything hidden in plain sight. It’s there, yet no one seems to notice. Maybe you have more in common with the night than you wish to believe.

On these nights, you come home in a fit of anger after a day of everyone around you wanting to tug at your strings. It isn’t their fault, but their actions leave you restless and aggravated; it’s the simplest things that push you over the edge. The coffee made by the barista that morning being a little too sweet; the sound of your colleague tapping his fingers against his desk all throughout the day; the ridiculous number of questions your boss continues to pester you with that you never have the answers for; the continuous texts from your neighbour who knows no sense of boundaries and time, as it is well past two in the morning yet Kim Wonpil still persists on asking you if you’ve made it home safe. You ignore the texts, just as you try to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. But on these nights, that feeling is more stubborn than it should be. 

You arrive at the front of your apartment, glancing at the watch on your wrist. You read the time: it is almost 2.30 a.m. It’s been a long, tiring day and all you need is a little rest. Just a good night’s sleep where you can wake to the start of another morning, and everything will be okay. Tonight will be over, and everything will be okay. But on these nights, nothing is ever just that easy. 

Tonight, as the door clicks shut behind you, you fall to your knees. 

The melancholy of the moment comes in a sudden wave that you yourself can barely begin to comprehend; the sudden tears flow through without so much as a warning, and the sinking feeling in your stomach only deepens as you remain kneeled on the floor, shivering from the sudden yet inexplicable drop in temperature. The warmth of the sweater no longer comforts you, but you pull it tighter around yourself nonetheless, because it’s the only companion you have. The darkness of the room reminds you of the world outside, engulfed in an abyss with the secrets it tries to keep hidden in plain sight, just as you always do. Just as you always have been. It irritates you; the fucking tears and the cold and the dark only irritates you, because you hate feeling this way. You hate being this way. 

You’ve never understood why you are this way. 

The sudden vibration of your phone that lies on the ground jolts you to your senses, and you pick it up with shaken hands in an attempt to distract yourself from the melancholy of the moment, from the night itself and the consequence it brings. A text notification appears on the screen. 

2.30 a.m.  
Kim Wonpil: Are you awake? 

It’s only Wonpil. Fuck it, it’s only Wonpil, being the annoying little shit that he is. You throw your phone across the room with a sneer, before hearing a sob leave your lips at the mere act in itself; you throw your head back against the frame of your door, feeling your breaths shorten due to the large amount of tears in a short number of minutes. You can barely breathe, you can barely make out the sight around you as you’re trapped in an abyss, you can barely feel the cold anymore as everything goes numb. You keep the sweater tightened around you, as the sole companion you have, though every single part of you can no longer feel. 

But you can hear perfectly. You can hear the sound of a knock coming from the other side of the door loud and clear, along with the soft voice that follows. The voice that is telling you to open up and let him in, because he’s been worried sick about whether or not you’ve arrived home safe; because you’ve spent the entire night ignoring his texts; because he can hear your cries from the other side of the door. He calls out your name, repeatedly, and he tells you that he knows you can hear him. Your breath hitches in your throat as he continues to insist, your body no longer numb but instead filled with aggravation to the core. This damn Kim Wonpil. Always too stubborn for his own good. 

“Go away, Wonpil,” you mutter just loud enough for him to hear; you receive a sigh in response. 

“Are you okay? You’re crying. I’m not leaving you if you’re crying.”

“Just go home. I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you want to talk about it? It’s always best to talk about it.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Trust me. It helps if you talk – “ 

“For fuck’s sake, I don’t want to talk about it because there’s nothing to fucking talk about!” you snap, hearing the loudness of your voice resonate within the room. Your words must have shocked him more than either of you expected, because you’re greeted with only silence. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know why I feel this way; there’s no reason for me to feel this way. And I hate it. I fucking hate that I don’t know why I feel this way. All I know is I woke up this morning feeling like shit, and it never levelled up the entire day, and here I am. I don’t know what to do, or how to feel. And I fucking hate that I don’t.”

You exhale deeply, letting the last of the words pour out of you in the heat of the moment. You try to resist another tear from slipping out and meandering down your cheek, but the effort is futile. All efforts you’ve made today has only proved to be futile. “It’s just one of those nights. It’s one of those shitty, shitty nights.”

Silence. You pause for a moment to listen to Wonpil’s reaction, but nothing comes. You press your ear to the door to search for indication of movement on the outside, but you hear nothing. 

Kim Wonpil left. You should’ve known. 

You tell yourself you’re glad. You tell yourself that it’s what you wanted; you told him mere moments ago to leave, and he only obliged. It’s not his fault. It’s no one’s fault but your own. 

You wrap your arms around your legs and rests your head between your legs, feeling your eyes starting to water again; there’s no point in trying to resist. You might as well try to make it through the rest of the night, even if it means you’ll end up with little to no sleep. You wait in silence as the numbness takes over, gradually plummeting you into your abyss –

When the sound of someone hitting the frame of your door on the other side enters your ears, jolting you to your senses. 

A few subtle knocks come from the other side as Wonpil alerts you to his presence, wanting you to know that he’s still there, and that he never left. To assure you that he won’t leave, even if you beg him to. All efforts you’ve made today have proved futile; this one remains just the same. 

“If you won’t let me in, then that’s okay. But you can’t keep me from staying out here,” he speaks, and you can hear the concern in his voice. It’s the most comforting sound you’ve heard all day – it takes a part of the numbness away. “Let it all out. Cry, scream, curse at the night for making you feel this way. I don’t care. As long as you don’t hurt yourself, I’ll remain on this side of the door. But I’m here. I’ll be here if you need me. I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re okay.”

Wonpil’s words leave you at a loss for your own. It is your turn to stay silent, unable to conjure a respond to his assurance. Wonpil is your neighbour, someone who has always been a little eccentric yet sweet, always concerned as to whether or not you make it home at night safe. But here he is, extending a hand in the dark, not wanting you to go through the rest of the night by yourself, making it clear there’s nothing you can say to change his mind. 

Damn that Kim Wonpil. He’s always been a little too stubborn for his own good. 

All your efforts today have proven futile. So instead of trying, you give in; you let yourself drown in the melancholy of the moment, needing to let everything you’ve kept in for the day out into the dark, where all secrets lie open in plain sight. The time passes in minutes, or hours, you can barely tell; all you know is that Kim Wonpil’s presence remains at the door throughout the entirety of the night, throughout the entirety of your time in the abyss, letting you vent in the way you need to. It is only when you tell him you are fine and that you are okay, that he does finally leave. It is only then that you peacefully sleep, waiting to wake to the start of a better morning. 

You are sure it will be.

These are the nights that hurt most. But on these nights, Kim Wonpil reminds you that you are never alone.

**Author's Note:**

> If you need to talk.
> 
> @/endlesskyh on twitter. Please dm me if you ever need a reminder that you are never alone.


End file.
